


Cats with Suicidal Tendencies: A Story of the Sixth Bookkeeper

by Geonn



Series: The Bookkeeper's Archive [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Books, Gen, Humor, Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a special breed of person to travel with a Time Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cats with Suicidal Tendencies: A Story of the Sixth Bookkeeper

He broke my heart, so I broke his nose. The bitch he was with was lucky I didn't do anything to her. She ran as soon as her boyfriend hit the ground and I didn't feel like chasing her. Unfortunately that meant I was left standing over a bleeding jackass outside the movie theater when security showed up, and they made sure I didn't leave until the cops came to sort things out. One of the popcorn girls behind the counter had seen the whole confrontation and I think she felt some solidarity with me. She gave me a bag of ice for my knuckles, for which I was grateful. Damn, but I never knew how bad it hurt to punch someone in the face in real life. 

I got to sit in a little under the projector booths while I waited for the police to talk with Jason. The officer who finally came to find me looked tiny under his cap and uniform jacket, his little head swimming under the brim that was pulled low on his brow. He looked at his notes. "Allison Broom?"

"Orison," I corrected. "Is he pressing charges?"

"We didn't give him a chance. He said you broke his nose, but I highly doubt that. I think you just shocked him and hurt his pride more than anything else. One of the girls behind the counter saw the whole thing and said he was basically asking for it. No more fisticuffs, hear me?"

I stood up and saluted with my uninjured hand. "Will do, officer. Can I go?"

"Sure. You want a ride?"

As fun as it would have been to freak out my roommates by showing up in a squad car, I wanted to walk. I thanked him for the offer as I turned it down, leaving the bag of mostly melted ice on the security officer's desk. I shrugged into my coat and the cop followed me out. Jason and his new girl were sitting in the lobby between a life-sized cut-out of Angelina Jolie. He winced when he saw me, and his girl looked frightened, but I ignored them both. I didn't even give them the dignity of flipping them off as I left.

On the way home I nursed my hand. The knuckles were still sore, but I could flex my fingers without too much pain. I figured they would be fine by the morning. Odd how I was driven to physical violence when, five minutes earlier, I'd have said I was pretty much done with Jason. We were in the vacuum that happens when a relationship is dead but neither participant is really willing to pull the plug yet. It was just infuriating to see that he had moved on already. I felt like I'd lost a race when I hadn't even heard the starting gun. I could have had all kinds of dates if I'd known we were seeing other people. 

I was walking down a normally quiet street when I heard the tingling of a bell, the kind that used to hang over the door of gas stations and bookstores before they turned into automated _Star Trek_ chimes. I slowed down almost to a standstill because I was positive this street was almost entirely industrial. Garages and warehouses, business supply companies and the like. 

But now, at the dead-end side of the street, right in front of the field I'd planned to cross to get home, there was a little bookshop I could have sworn hadn't been there the last time I took this shortcut. How long had it been? A month? Certainly not long enough for a shop to have manifested out of thin air. And it looked settled in, like it had been there for years and years and I'd only just now noticed it. _Had_ it been there all that time? No. Impossible. There was no way I would overlook a bookstore this close to my home.

The bell had been rung by a man leaving the store. He wore a heavy military coat with the collar turned up so that the corners brushed his unshaven cheeks. His cheeks were sharp and angled lines that sloped down to a sharp chin. He had dark hair, thicker at the top and in front than it was on the back and sides, giving him an uneven look as he lunged headlong down the street. He was fiddling with something that he shoved into the pocket of his jacket as he neared me. He looked up, thick black brows knit together in consternation and his eyes widening when he saw me staring at him.

"Oh. Hello."

He sounded South African, with a lilt to his accent that made his words sound more musical than a Brit. He squared his shoulders and revealed he was a few inches taller than me. He managed a smile and tugged on the sleeves of his jacket. 

"Hope I didn't startle you."

"Is that your store?"

"It is."

"How long has it been there?"

"Oh, ages. It's brand-new."

I stared at him, knowing he had contradicted himself but believing him for some reason. "Huh," I said. "Do you buy books?"

"Only used ones. There's something lonely about an unused book. Pages never rifled through, words never read. Why?" He narrowed his eyes at me as if we were discussing illicit drugs. "Why? Got some?"

I thought of all the books Jason had bought me over the years. He had more money than I did, and books were infinitely less expensive than most things a girl could ask her boyfriend to buy her, he didn't mind shelling out. But now they were like little time bombs sitting on my shelf. If I could sell them, I could get some cash and buy some new books without the taint of Jason on them. 

"Yeah. I got a few."

He withdrew a card from his jacket pocket so smoothly that I wasn't entirely sure his arm had moved. He held it out to me between his first two fingers. There was a row of book spines standing on a shelf and, in the center of it was a space to fit in the words THE BOOKKEEPER. Underneath was simply open 9a-10p, M-F. 

"Bookkeeper, huh?"

He doffed an imaginary cap. "That's me. And you are?"

"Orison Broom."

His eyes sparkled. "Brilliant name." He checked his watch and sighed. "Orison Broom, I'm afraid I have to move along. I have an appointment to keep. And seeing as I did keep it, I can't be late. Time would be very cross with me if I was late to something I'm on record as being on time for. You know what they say about Time."

"She waits for no man?"

He looked vaguely offended. "A gentleman doesn't give Time the opportunity to wait. A gentleman grabs her hand and pulls Time along with him." He wiggled his eyebrows and touched a finger to his brow again. "I hope to see you and your books tomorrow, Ms. Broom."

He stepped around me and continued down the street. I watched him, the tails of his coat flapping behind him like folded raven wings.

"Wait! What do I call you?"

He turned to face me, walking backwards. "Book!"

"Oh, come on," I said.

He laughed and waved before turning his back to me again. I watched until he disappeared around the corner, looked at his card, and then turned to look at his store again. It was just a little brick shop with a stone façade, two window displays on either side of a recessed entryway. I walked up to it, spotting the ornate scrolled script in the bottom corner of one window as I got closer. THE BOOKKEEPER. I suppose it was a fitting name. I cupped my hands on either side of my face and leaned close to the glass.

In the shadows I saw shelves, tall shelves that seemed to be stacked to bursting with books. I could almost smell the binding and the old pages, and I wanted to try picking the lock just so I could rifle through them all. Two lamps had been left on behind the counter and provided just enough amber light to cast a spooky glow over every surface. I saw a door standing ajar at the back of the space that led down a brightly-lit corridor. 

The door had an ornate handle with a thumb latch that looked like a golden tongue. I tried it, but was unsurprised to discover it was locked. I stepped back from the door and turned around to discover Book was standing less than two feet behind me. I was too startled to even gasp. I tensed and recoiled away from him, my hands coming up either to protect my face or to push him away. 

"Broom." He sounded contemplative, like he wasn't even aware of my presence. "Orison Bloom, you said? Daughter of Russell and Celeste Broom?"

"Y-yeah. Yes."

He pulled down his jacket sleeve and held his forearm horizontally in front of him. He wore at least seven watchbands, and he ran his finger along the row to consult each one. "Hm." He dropped his arm, shook it so that the sleeve fell back into place, and finally looked at me again. "It would seem I kept my appointment after all."

"That was quick," I said.

He smiled. "Orison Broom, I will see you tomorrow morning. Bright and early, with the books you wish to sell. If I could make a request... you'll find a book at the bottom of the foot locker your father left you when he died. It won't be anything special. Falling apart, in fact, and ready for the dustbin or recycling. Bring it with you and I assure you that I will pay you its true worth and then some. Feel free to do a bit of research so you'll know I'm not trying to pull a fast one over on you. Have we a deal, then?"

I looked at his outstretched hand, the knobby fingers and the smooth lines of his palm. I knew exactly what book he was talking about, and I'd done the research as soon as I got the trunk in Dad's will. The book was out of print, but it was nothing special. Pristine and brand-new copies sold for a penny-plus-shipping on Amazon. I shrugged and took his hand. He squeezed and I winced. I had forgotten all about my encounter with Jason.

"Oh. Sorry. Are you hurt?" He held the grip and turned my hand to examine the knuckles.

"Just got into a little dust-up. It'll be fine by morning."

"A dust-up, eh? Are you a scrapper?"

I took my hand back from him. "Piss me off and find out."

He grinned from ear to ear. "I'd like to think I'm wiser than that. You were snooping in my windows. Trying to look into the shadows and see what you could see. Tell me, Orison Broom. Are you a curious woman?"

"You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat?" I smiled. "I'm a cat with suicidal tendencies."

His grin threatened to split his face, and he slapped my arm. "Very good, very good _indeed_. Tomorrow, Orison. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer."

We stepped around each other in a complex dance, and I watched him unlock the shop and step inside. He pulled the blind down behind him and I saw the interior lights wink out. An odd shop and an odder proprietor. Increasingly odd. But it was better to end my day oddly than in anger. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and walked past the store, walking into the tall grass of the field as I composed a mental list of what books I was going to bring when I came back in the morning.

#

I fully expected the store to be gone when I got back. I stayed up late filling three boxes with books Jason had given me, then loaded them into the backseat of my friend Stacie's car so I could drive them down. I did as the enigmatic Mr. Book suggested and checked online again. Maybe someone had discovered the old dog-eared and ragged book I had was worth something. But half the sites I found didn't even recognize it as a real book, and the others were offering five hundred different copies for less than you would drop in a Salvation Army bucket. I put that book in my coat pocket so I could present it to him without digging through all the other books and spent the drive steeling myself for the surreal experience of seeing an empty field.

The shop was still there, still as incongruous as ever. I parked in front of the door and unloaded the boxes onto the sidewalk. Book came outside as I was placing the second one on the ground, and he bent forward from the waist to peer inside. I put down the third box next to him. "Are you going to help?"

"Lifting things? No. I'll hold the door for you."

"What a peach." I managed to get all the boxes inside. Who knew Jason had left such a weight behind? But I knew once I got rid of these books I would be able to breathe easier. I didn't want anything he had touched taking up valuable space on my shelves. 

Book followed me inside and went around the back of the counter. In the light I could see the interior of the store better. It was quaint, cozy. There was a small decorative fireplace in the back corner with a reading area set up around it. A tall central pillar took up a lot of floor space and I knocked against the side of it. Hollow. Odd. I reached into my coat with one hand, massaging the ball of tightness out of my back with the other hand.

"I brought that book you asked about. _The Artist of Crossroads_." His eyes brightened and he held out his hand for it. I handed it to him and he turned it over twice like Gollum being handed the preciousssss. It wasn't even that well-written, according to some of the comments online. It was the story of a man who had the power to create pathways from one world to the next. Evil forces, naturally, wanted to use the power for their own nefarious reasons, but he led them all on a merry chase to keep it out of their hands. Typical thriller schlock, nothing worth getting excited over. But the way Book was staring at it, you'd think I'd offered him a Gutenberg _Bible_.

"So how did you know I even had it?"

He put it on the counter and lifted the cover, running his finger along the text of the first page. "I was told to come here, last night, meet you, and arrange for the purchase."

"Told by whom?"

"It's a very complicated tale. Now, as to your payment." He took a leather folder from his coat pocket and put it down next to the book. "Conversion rates being what they are, and inflation. I'm not even sure what month it is, forget years, so forgive me if the first offer is a bit parsimonious. Is five thousand dollars a lot of money?"

I thought he was joking, but he seemed genuinely interested. "Ten thousand is more."

"Ten thousand it is." He opened the folder and began counting out bills.

"Hey! Whoa. I was joking. This book isn't worth five dollars."

He stared at me. "Why would you say that?"

"It's... look, if you have ten thousand dollars, you can go online and literally buy ten thousand copies of this book. I can't take your money. I'd feel horrible ripping you off like that."

Book laughed. "Oh! No. No, you don't understand. This book that is readily available in every bargain bin this side of the solar system is completely different than what you have. They share a title, that's all. In your year... ah... nineteen hundred and, and, thirty-two, I think. Yes. There was a man named Walter Rosborm wrote a diary about his discoveries in interplanetary travel. Several world governments tried to take his research, forcing him to go on the run. The diary was turned into a work of pitifully bad fiction in an effort to throw his enemies off the trail. The fictional version contains misleading formulae and spurious findings.

"Rosborm's discovery was a needle that could be used to poison the whole of existence. He knew it was too big to ever hide, so he created a haystack around it. For the past century, people have been hunting for this book. Bad people. People who would use it for all sorts of dastardly things. And now I have it."

He looked at me for a beat, then looked at the book, and then said, "Oh. I assure you, I'm not one of them. I'm not a good guy or a bad guy in this situation. Secrets of rudimentary interplanetary travel, not really of interest to me." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Sound really boring to me. I'd kill for a chance to see another planet."

"Would you really?" His voice had suddenly grown more serious.

"Would I really what?"

"Kill."

I almost answered tritely, but his tone told me that would be the wrong way to go. "No. Never."

His smile returned. "Well, then... maybe there's a chance I could pay you what this book is really worth. You see, I'm the best choice to protect a book this powerful because I have no need for the secrets it holds. I already have a spaceship... and it's also a time machine. Because when something is just one or the other, it's kind of boring. So why not mash them together, ay?" 

I was in the bookstore of a madman. "Right. Look, buddy, I'll take a hundred bucks for the whole works. I'm definitely coming out ahead on that, but it's a bargain if you were going to spend five grand on one book."

Book held up one finger. "Counter-offer. Five thousand dollars, plus the opportunity to see wonders you could never have imagined. I am in need of a clerk. The position would give you the opportunity to explore every corner of this world and all of the worlds in the sky. Consider the money a signing bonus and we can work out the details of your contract later. It will be spectacularly dangerous and dangerously spectacular. You'll see things you could only have dreamed about, and you'd have called those dreams nightmares. You'll be perfectly safe, except when you're not. When you're ready to come home, I'll bring you back here to this day, this hour, and you'll go about your life as if nothing happened."

I stared at him. "Alien worlds?" 

"Yes."

"And alien literature?"

"Libraries and libraries of it. I work for a planet-sized archive that wants to house every book ever written. Some of them are readily available but others have to be hunted down. That's what I do. I find the unfindable books so that others don't have to search for them. Through the whole of time and space. What do you say, cat? Feel like testing your suicidal tendencies?"

I looked out the front of the shop and saw Stacie's car parked at the curb. I wanted a chance to get over Jason before I ran into him again. I didn't want to assault him again. Time travel. Traveling in outer space. Ridiculous. But if he was lying, then I would find out soon enough. 

"What if I wanted to take a test drive before I made my decision?"

He gestured with both hands as if that was to be expected and gestured for me to step out of the way. He touched something on the central pillar and four panels slid away. My mind rebelled at the mechanisms that were exposed. Blinking lights and screens, dials and levers... it was unreal. Mr. Book typed something onto a tiny keyboard and then pushed it toward me.

"Most of my clerks tend to stay on their own planet for the first trip, but I can highly recommend Tentaratinatis Ten. Excellent mint juleps. They originated there, you know? Got cross-pollinated to Earth by... I don't know. Tourists or something."

I looked at the screen. After a moment I rested my hands over the keys. "How do I take this thing to the biggest library in the galaxy?"

Mr. Book grinned again, and I returned it. If curiosity killed cats, then we had just signed what amounted to a murder-suicide pact. I couldn't wait to see what we found.

**Author's Note:**

> Vote for which version of the Bookkeeper I should write about next! http://geonncannon.livejournal.com/1643442.html


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